


Something That Is Mine

by bibliothekara



Series: OT3 of Doom [1]
Category: John Adams (2008)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliothekara/pseuds/bibliothekara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during John, Abby, and Thomas's time together in France. Loving John Adams, or being his friend, isn't easy. But do Abigail and Thomas share something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something That Is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted for Porn Battle X, for the prompt "Abigail Adams/Thomas Jefferson; jealousy". As with all my stuff, it took on a mind of its own.

************

As she watched him stroll around the topiary, Abigail Adams came to one conclusion: the man was infuriating. There was really nothing more to be said than that. Thomas Jefferson was simply the most frustrating, contradictory, mercurial man that Abigail had ever met.

Well, excepting John, of course. Always excepting John. Because John was a purely singular being. Singular, and wonderful, and a gravitational body whose intellectual pull wreaked havoc with the smaller beings around him.

Thomas understood that as well. This was the problem, you see. Abigail knew that, as with all love affairs falling short of the divine, there were parts of John that were not hers, facets of him that she would never possess or understand. And most of the ones she knew about, belonged to Thomas. And that, she obviously could not forgive.

She watched him for a minute more. And then she did a wicked, wicked thing: she followed him.

It was dusk, and that may have increased her recklessness. Sunlight falling over the trees and the house, this lovely estate that would never really be hers and never really be home. Except when she was with them. Because Thomas completed the set. He could calm John when he was in one of his moods; and calm Abigail when she was tired of doing so.

They had reached the center of the maze; and yet Thomas was so lost in thought, that she had to place her hand on his shoulder to attract his attention. Those dark eyes, slowly returning to earthly concerns, focused intently upon her face.

"Abigail? Abigail. Ah yes, because John has been summoned. That long-winded Marquis. Was there something you needed, or wanted?"

This easy amity, opposite to its intention, only served to inflame her passion.

"There are many things I want. Home. John, unshared with you and Dr. Franklin and Washington and the multitudes. Something that is mine, that can stand stable  upon the shoals for more then a  week or month at a time. Can you give me  any of *that*, Mr. Jefferson?"

Her breathing had increased in tempo, she felt her cheeks, flush. And still his dark eyes searched her, betraying dangerously nothing.

"You are my friend, and my confidant, and I will give you anything that is mine to give, my lady. You know that. You've always known that."

The intangible danger then became solid, as he raised his hand to her cheek. Wiping away the tear she had not been aware of shedding.

Abigail Adams did not waver. Ever. She would not have survived, otherwise. She strode forth into what life had to bring her.

She raised her own hand to clasp his. And turned her lips, to kiss and caress his formerly comforting palm.

At this, he only raised an eyebrow. Raised an eyebrow, and stepped closer to her, pulling himself to within a hands-breadth of her skirts.

"I never meant to take John away from you, Abby."

She looked down, ashamed.

"I know that."

"I will not apologize for the friendship that he and I have shared."

"And of all the men I have been forced to share him with, I will admit I resent you...the least."

She looked up, into his eyes, again. He had moved, as they spoke, to within inches. To within nothing, it seemed.

"That is scant praise, indeed, but I will take it as a compliment."

"You may take it however you wish, Thomas."

His only answer was no answer at all, as he closed the space between them. Entwining their fingers together, and gently clasping her lips with his. His tongue snaked, cautiously, gently, into her mouth and then found her own tongue expertly. She returned the gesture, and felt his breath increase in time with hers.

With her one hand otherwise engaged, the other sent caution to the four winds. Finding the small of his back, she grasped it powerfully, pulling him towards her. He responded in kind, raising his other hand, running his deft fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. She moaned slightly; he took this as encouragement, and grasped more firmly.

There were no words. Nothing need be said; they were not children, stealing kisses behind the dairy shed. Thomas suddenly took the initiative, and swung her towards a most-convenient wall, bracing himself and Abigail against it. The hand that had been entwined with hers now traveled mischievously northward, caressing her breast. She almost wanted to cry out at the sensation, but further ministrations of his tongue quieted that notion.

In return, she committed to some mischief of her own, running her thumb and forefinger over those silken breeches (such extravagance) until she found the location she wished. She was not disappointed, finding his member hard, ready and willing. Starting slowly, she increased her pressure. Rhythmically, it seemed. In time with the allegro of their two hearts.

He gasped; she playfully bit his lip to prevent him pulling away, but he did anyway, for a moment. This did not stop her in her previous objective.

Now, he spoke, out of breath, as if (as she knew) that magnificent brain of his could only partly concentrate on speech.

"You...have me at a disadvantage...Abigail. I pride myself on...on chivalry, but I know not .....oh,  oh my....how to reciprocate."

"Ah, Thomas,  but I am a frugal New England girl,  not one of these highborn ladies, with a dozen walls set before their inner sanctum. Search, and you shall find."

She smiled, as wickedly as she had in years; he grinned as broadly as he ever had, and kissed her once more. Meanwhile, one hand began the quest his lady had requested.

Ah. Oh yes.  Now, she felt those fingers, so  oft talented with the pen, put to another, more pleasant use. She responded in kind.

The sun was setting now, but a glorious sunset shone its golden orange light over the two of them. Their breath, their bodies, their minds were joined in ecstasy.

For a moment, there was not the house, there was not France, or America. There was not anything. There was simply Abigail and Thomas, and she was his, and he hers.

As one, they climaxed, with no noisy exultations. She looked at the clear sky above, unconsciously, and then returned her gaze to his face. His quiet, kind face.

"Have I given you...given what you desired, my lady?"

"For a moment. For one moment, yes, you have, Thomas."

As their breath slowed, and the trembling of their bodies calmed, they now simply embraced. He laid his head on her shoulder; she stroked his hair.

"The sun sets, Abigail."

"I know it."

"Our moment recedes. I think the world outside may be calling us to return."

He raised his head, and the look on his face was mournful. As she knew it must be. This had been a stolen season. But in that house resided the man whose blustery winters and glorious summers filled both of their sails.

"I think it is. Will you walk in with me, Thomas?"

"I will, Abigail."

They joined hands, and strolled towards the house, as they had many times before.

*fin*


End file.
